Rain had stopped sometime during the night.
The silence afterward felt unfamiliar.
Demion sat near the edge of the bed quietly, staring toward the dim candlelight trembling across the room.
Sachu stood beside the table grinding medicine leaves into powder with slow, practiced movements.
Neither of them had spoken for several minutes.
Demion finally broke the silence.
"Why did you stop me?"
Sachu didn't look up.
"You were scaring her."
"She was suffering."
The grinding stone paused briefly.
Then continued.
"So?" Sachu asked quietly.
Demion frowned slightly.
The answer felt obvious.
"She was afraid."
"Yes."
"She was starving."
"Yes."
"She would've continued suffering."
Sachu finally looked toward him.
"And killing her fixes that?"
Demion's chest tightened slightly.
"It ends it."
The room became still.
Sachu studied him silently for a long moment.
Not angry.
Not disgusted.
That somehow made the silence worse.
Demion lowered his eyes.
"You think I'm wrong."
"I think you're tired."
The answer caught him off guard.
Demion looked up again.
Sachu leaned back slightly against the table.
"Tired people start confusing silence with peace," he murmured.
Demion's fingers curled tightly against the blanket.
"You didn't answer me."
Sachu exhaled quietly.
"No," he admitted.
"I don't think death is mercy."
Demion's expression hardened slightly.
"Then what is?"
The burned man stayed silent for a moment.
Rainwater still dripped softly outside the window.
Finally:
"Sometimes there isn't mercy."
Demion frowned.
Sachu's remaining eye reflected the candlelight quietly.
"Sometimes things are just painful."
The words settled heavily into the room.
Demion shook his head slowly.
"That changes nothing."
"Maybe not."
"People still suffer."
"Yes."
"They abandon each other."
Sachu said nothing.
Demion's voice lowered slightly.
"The girl abandoned you too."
Silence.
The moment the words left him, Demion realized how sharp they sounded.
But Sachu didn't react angrily.
He only looked toward the floor quietly.
After several seconds:
"She did."
Demion frowned.
"You forgive her?"
Sachu laughed softly.
Weakly.
"No."
That answer surprised him.
The burned man leaned back against the wall.
"There are days I still hate her for it."
The honesty unsettled Demion more than anger would've.
Sachu looked toward the flickering candle.
"But hatred doesn't remove pain either."
Demion stayed silent.
Sachu's voice lowered.
"She looked at me and saw someone she couldn't spend her life beside."
A small pause.
"That hurt."
The candle crackled softly.
"But forcing her to stay would've hurt her too."
Demion didn't understand.
"If she loved you, why leave?"
Sachu smiled faintly.
"Telling someone to suffer beside you forever isn't love."
The room fell quiet again.
Demion looked away.
That answer felt wrong somehow.
Or perhaps simply unfamiliar.
"You still care about people after everything they did."
Sachu shrugged slightly.
"Some people."
"Why?"
The question came quietly.
Almost frustrated.
Demion genuinely couldn't understand it.
The burned man looked toward him carefully now.
Then slowly asked:
"Has anyone ever cared about you before?"
Demion froze.
The question opened something uncomfortable inside him immediately.
His father counting money with shaking hands.
His sister clinging to him in fear.
A stranger stealing hospital money.
Boots crushing his ribs.
Then—
warm hands resting carefully on his shoulders.
Sachu.
Demion looked down silently.
Sachu noticed the answer anyway.
Something painful moved briefly through his remaining eye.
"You've suffered too much for your age," he murmured.
The words felt strange.
Not philosophical.
Not divine.
Human.
Demion suddenly hated hearing them.
A loud knock shattered the silence.
Both of them looked toward the door instantly.
Another knock followed.
Harder.
"Open up!"
Demion stiffened immediately.
Voices echoed outside.
"City guard!"
Sachu cursed quietly beneath his breath.
Demion stood instinctively.
"They found me."
"Of course they found you," Sachu muttered while grabbing his coat from the chair.
"Half the slums think you're a curse now."
The pounding grew louder.
"Open the door!"
Demion's chest tightened.
Fear spread quickly through his body.
Not fear of pain.
Not fear of death.
Something else.
Being dragged back into that darkness again.
Sachu noticed his expression immediately.
"Hey."
Demion looked toward him.
Sachu stepped closer.
"You can barely stand properly right now."
Another slam rattled the door.
"Open this damn door!"
Sachu lowered his voice.
"So stop looking at them like cornered prey."
The words landed strangely softly.
Not commanding.
Protective.
Demion stared at him silently.
Sachu moved toward the window quickly.
"Come on."
Demion hesitated.
"Why are you helping me?"
Sachu glanced back briefly.
Then:
"Because someone should've done it sooner."
The answer struck something deep inside Demion's chest.
Before he could respond, Sachu forced the window open.
Cold air rushed inside.
Voices erupted downstairs.
"They were here!"
Sachu grabbed Demion's wrist.
"Move."
They climbed into the narrow alley behind the house just as heavy footsteps thundered through the room behind them.
Rainwater splashed beneath their feet as they moved through the sleeping streets.
Demion's breathing became uneven quickly.
His body still felt weak.
Sachu slowed slightly beside him.
"You okkay?"
Demion nodded weakly.
Sachu laughed quietly despite everything.
The sound felt strangely warm against the cold night.
The mansion gates towered above him.
Demion stopped walking.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
The walls alone looked larger than entire sections of the slums.
Warm light glowed behind tall windows.
Clean stone pathways stretched through carefully trimmed gardens untouched by mud or rot.
The world here looked... protected.
Sachu pushed the gate open.
"Come inside."
Demion didn't move immediately.
"This is your house?"
Sachu glanced upward toward the mansion.
"Unfortunately."
Demion stared silently.
He had seen north districts before.
From far away.
But standing here felt different.
The silence alone unsettled him.
No screaming.
No coughing.
No hunger echoing through thin walls.
Just quiet.
Sachu noticed his hesitation.
"You're allowed to walk through the gate," he said softly.
Demion stepped forward slowly.
The doors opened before they reached them.
An old servant stood waiting beneath the warm light.
Grey-haired.
Thin.
Tired eyes.
The man froze briefly upon seeing Demion.
Not disgust.
Not fear.
Only surprise.
Then his gaze shifted toward Sachu.
"You're injured again."
Sachu sighed.
"Good evening to you too, Smith."
The servant stepped aside immediately.
"Come in before someone sees you."
Warmth wrapped around Demion instantly as he entered.
His body stiffened instinctively.
The air itself felt different here.
A long dining table stretched across the room nearby.
Candles flickered softly against polished walls.
And there—
food.
Real food.
Fresh bread.
Soup.
Cooked meat still steaming slightly.
Demion stopped breathing for a moment.
Sachu noticed immediately.
"Sit," he said quietly.
Demion didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on the table.
Something old and desperate twisted violently inside his chest.
Sachu's expression softened slightly.
"You don't have to ask permission here."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Slowly, Demion approached the table.
Then stopped again.
His fingers moved instinctively toward the bread—
before immediately pulling back.
Waiting.
Expecting someone to hit him.
To yell.
To call him filthy.
The silence stretched painfully.
Sachu felt something inside himself crack quietly.
Because the movement had been automatic.
Learned.
Demion noticed the staring and immediately stepped backward.
"I wasn't stealing."
The words escaped too quickly.
Fear followed them.
The room became completely silent.
Smith looked away first.
Sachu stared at Demion for several long seconds.
Then quietly:
"I know."
No anger.
No suspicion.
Just certainty.
Demion couldn't understand that expression.
Sachu slowly pulled out a chair beside the table.
"Eat," he murmured softly.
Demion hesitated again.
Then slowly sat down.
His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the bread.
The first bite disappeared too fast.
Then another.
His body moved faster than thought.
As though someone might take it away if he slowed down.
Sachu watched silently.
Not interrupting.
Not stopping him.
Only watching.
And somewhere deep inside the burned man—
something painfully protective began taking shape.
Not pity.
Something closer to grief.
Because for the first time—
he understood just how long this child had suffered alone.